


Mediterranean

by Wolfsbreath



Series: Red Roses & Shooting Stars [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anti-German Sentiment, Fascism, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Italian Campaign, Italy, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Short One Shot, Smoking, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbreath/pseuds/Wolfsbreath
Summary: Ludwig is a German-American soldier fighting in the Italian Campaigns, rising out of his troubled childhood in a period of anti-German hysteria. He meets a charismatic Italian partisan who helps him come to grips with some of his demons.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Series: Red Roses & Shooting Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635079
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Mediterranean

**Author's Note:**

> This work serves as a sort of pilot to an AU series that I had been developing. 
> 
> Don't mind me kicking Hetalia's dying corpse. I'm quite fond of it still, for all its cringeworthiness. It has a special place in my heart. Five years after discovering it, I'm posting what I can call my first fanfiction for this weirdly addictive anime and manga series.
> 
> A fair warning, Ludwig and Feliciano may appear to act differently than their canon characters. The first reason for this is that these characters are heavily influenced by a Germany-inspired character that I roleplayed and an Italy-inspired character that my great friend roleplayed together for four years. The second reason is that I tried to maintain a period-typical realism and atmosphere. I attempted to maintain historical accuracy as much as possible. For the sake of prose and style, I may have sacrificed some historical accuracy, but it is not enough to derail from the work.
> 
> More Warnings! This story contains 20th century period themes such as discrimination based on ethnicity/nationality and religion, smoking, fascism, and war. USE DISCRETION.

Sweat rolled down in little beads down his neck, leaving an uncomfortable dampness under his clothes. Ludwig hooked a finger into his collar and pulled it back. Cool relief came, but only for a second. He slouched against an upturned rock and fished around in his pockets to pull out a cigarette. How naive he was to think Mediterranean nights would be cooler. He found himself missing the dismal freeze of Ohioan winter. The sky was clear. There would be no bombings tonight.

A sharp stab of panic sliced through his chest when his fingers failed to locate his lighter. Had Elvis pulled a prank on him again? He was sick of this. Ludwig stood up shakily, clutching the cigarette gingerly between his teeth as he patted down his khaki uniform.

“ _Che fai_? What are you doing?”

For the second time that night, Ludwig suffered from a heart attack. He raised his gaze to meet the inquisitive stare of Feliciano, one of the Italian partisans. His eyes flashed when they caught sight of the object in his mouth. “Ah. I didn’t know you were a smoker, Ludwig.”

“’M not.” He insisted through gritted teeth. He had never smoked until the military. He didn’t like people to know he smoked, which was why he did it in private, even if everyone else had no qualms. Ludwig took his rationed cigarettes under the facade of using them simply as a type of currency.

He wouldn’t deny that they made him feel better. There was of course, the war, which brought a heavy weight on his soul that he found difficult to bear. But being in Europe, gray and destroyed, reminded him of his father’s eyes, and there were few happy memories that were tied to his old man. It began on Ludwig’s sixth birthday, the day his father was dragged out of their home to get on his knees and kiss the American flag, only a month before Germany surrendered in the Great War. Ludwig never told his father about how his Anglo-Saxon Protestant classmates beat him until his cursed German Catholic blood ran down his face. His mother always had Ludwig cleaned up before his father came home. She told him what a Hun was and why they were calling nine-year-old Ludwig that word, nine year old Ludwig who was born in Cleveland, Ohio like the rest of them. And in 1931 when Ludwig told his parents he was going to be attending the United States Military Academy at West Point, it was his father who snarled at him in German: _We left Europe behind because of all its wars! Now my only son is going to become a soldier? We crossed the Atlantic for this ungrateful brat_

“Yes. Next you’ll tell me that the sun goes around the earth.” Feliciano’s incredulous quip shook Ludwig quite roughly out of his dark thoughts. “I’m only surprised to find you like that. It’s bad for you and I thought you knew that, making it seem like you weren’t smoking and all.” Feliciano had to tilt his head up to look at him and Ludwig, suddenly self-conscious, straightened his posture and cleared his throat, flicking the cigarette aside.

The two of them had become a rather unlikely duo ever since Ludwig saved Feliciano’s skin from that straggling German soldier. Feliciano was elusive; Ludwig didn’t see much of him, but when he did, the Italian Resistance member had a way of managing to find Ludwig in the most inconvenient of places and cling to his side in a way that he treated nobody else. Ludwig tolerated him, mostly because he found Feliciano’s elaborate gesticulations amusing.

The reluctant fascination the American soldier had developed for the Italian partisan, however, had turned into something else. Ludwig didn’t know when he started to feel out of breath whenever Feliciano’s wild hands brushed his coat or his arms. Feliciano had a ringing laugh that Ludwig knew by heart and a smile that would make his brain fry like an overheated tank.

“I’d like to stop.” Ludwig entertained the thought. It had become a sort of unhealthy addiction or coping method. “I don’t know how, and there are no laws forbidding it.” 

“Laws don’t always tell you what is good or bad, I can tell you that.” Feliciano snorted.

“No? Didn’t Italy follow Germany’s anti-smoking politics? I thought that was why you’re pestering me about—” Ludwig realized he had been careless in his words when the Italian partisan tensed. Ludwig turned his face away to free himself from the fiery amber pits of Feliciano’s eyes. His lips felt uncomfortably dry. He licked them.

His gaze flickered downward and Ludwig caught the glint of his lighter. Feliciano noticed it as well. It had fallen on the ground. That was why he couldn’t find it. His shoulder twitched, moving down to grab it. Feliciano suddenly snatched him by the collar of his uniform and pulled Ludwig down to crash their faces together.

Their noses collided painfully and Ludwig yelped. Feliciano muttered something about large German noses, tilted his head, and kissed him with passionate force.

It was messy and their teeth clacked against each other but even so, heat scorched Ludwig’s skin, warmer than the Mediterranean night.  _ This _ heat didn’t draw salty liquid from the pores of his skin. It drew it from his eyes, tears gathering where his eyelids had fallen shut. It was wrong, but it was right. It made Ludwig lose his mind.

When Feliciano withdrew, Ludwig couldn’t help but pant for his lost breath, both were blushing. “Contrary to popular opinion, Italy is not Germany’s bitch.” Feliciano’s lips pulled back in a wide smile before adding, “But Mussolini and the Fascists may be an exception. You’re the only German I’ve come to like. Thick-headed, though. I had to make the first move, naturally.” The complete determination and strength in his amber eyes was burning Ludwig alive. How could he look so composed?

“I’m American.” Ludwig protested, but couldn’t hide the breathlessness of his voice. His mind was still swirling.

Feliciano went on grinning. “I know that.” He leaned down and picked up the lighter. Ludwig thought he’d make off with it and his muscles tensed, preparing to run after him if he did. He was quite surprised to feel Feliciano’s slender fingers pry open his clenched fist and press the lighter into the palm of his hand. His fingertips lingered there for a moment. Ludwig held his breath. 

“I can be with you at every step of the way, but I can’t cut this off from you. You’ve got to do that yourself, if you wanted to change it.” Feliciano whispered. “You’re strong enough.”

Ludwig sat down shakily without a word and Feliciano joined him, leaning his slender frame against the larger man. The two of them sat in companionable silence. Ludwig felt no itch to smoke while Feliciano’s warmth was at his side. A shooting star darted across the sky. Ludwig raised his hand to point at it, but faltered, feeling like a child.

“Hurry up and wish on it then!” Feliciano laughed, a sound that made Ludwig’s stomach flutter. “It’s not childish to hope. Soon the war will be over, and Italy will be liberated. I’ve never stopped thinking about it. I can’t wait to show you Rome.” It was like he had this uncanny ability to know exactly how Ludwig felt, something that nobody else was able to do.

“Soon.” Ludwig echoed, finally finding his voice. “We still have a long way to go. ‘Soft underbelly of Europe’, my ass. I’ll throttle Churchill myself.” 

Feliciano chuckled again and rested his head against Ludwig’s broad shoulder. Ludwig nearly imploded. “Don’t underestimate  _ il Belpaese _ .” He sighed, humming the tune of  _ Bella Ciao _ under his breath. “Or, in your case, me.”


End file.
